Welcome! No revision has been done tonight, maybe tomorrow!? Sorry for the unsupervised quick pace~
Kyou Kara Slytherin!
"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.
You can keep your bowlers black,
Your tall hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.
There's nothing hidden in your head,
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.
You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry,
Set Gryffindors apart;
You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil;
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
If you've a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning
Will always find their kind;
Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folk use any means
To achieve their ends.
So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"
Merlin wasn't sure if he should have been surprised by a singing hat, or if he should have been surprised by the surprise on the faces of the surrounding students. So he hadn't been the only one to not know how they would be sorted.
Seeing as he hadn't been the only one to gasp at the sight of ghosts, nor the ceiling that appeared to not exist, he felt calmer than before.
Still, he was just as nervous as the children surrounding him. What house would he be going to? As this amnesiac, he felt none of the traits the hat had described. What happened to students who didn't get chosen?
He tried to think of a wiser Merlin.
"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," Professor McGonagall, a woman in emerald robes who had led them to the hall, said. "Abott, Hannah!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
Certainly, he would be a Hufflepuff. Having lived for so long showed exactly how patient he could be! And he was definitely loyal, if all the moments he had described with comrades were to be believed.
"Bones, Susan!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
Though, Draco would definitely not like that. Neither would he like it if he ended up in Gryffindor. A wiser Merlin had truly been daring, and it took a lot of nerve to stand up to your companions (something Merlin knew had been done).
"Boot, Terry!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
Maybe Ravenclaw would be his house, since he knew his wiser self had been terribly interested in learning. He had the wit, he had the ready mind—who would dare not have a ready mind after living for so long!?
"Brocklehurst, Mandy!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
Though Slytherin also seemed nice. The description had been ambiguous, but the meaning obvious. Slytherins would "use any means to achieve their ends." Merlin wasn't quite sure how much he liked that, but he understood the feeling. However, the wiser Merlin had been little more than a wandering soul.
Maybe he would really not fit in anywhere. Merlin began to shuffle his feet anxiously, listening as the surnames of students slowly—too slowly—advanced from "B" to "C" and then "D".
Finally, "Emrys, Merlin!"
He heard a few snorts, but was otherwise like any other student. Just a name in the crowd.
That calmed him slightly.
He swallowed with difficulty as the hat engulfed his head, leaving him with nothing to look at but black. Nothing to listen to but the hum of a small voice in his ears.
The voice chuckled.
It suddenly dawned on Merlin that the hat could very well see through his head. Did this mean it could also peek through his memories? Even the ones he's lost?
"I see it all," the hat answered a question Merlin never asked. "Old, great and powerful, Merlin. You were correct when you thought your wiser self could fit into either Hufflepuff, or Ravenclaw, or Gryffindor.
Not Slytherin, then, Merlin wondered, choosing to ignore the "old, great and powerful" remark. He knew what he was. Had been. Would be.
"Most of all, Slytherin." It made little sense to Merlin.
But, what you sang doesn't go with what I've written in my journals. I had nothing! No friends, no goals to achieve! The most "cunning" I've ever been was when I lied about my magic.
"And how true that is," the hat had a smile in its voice. "But you made real friends, and you went though great means to achieve your goals. You may have forgotten the past—one filled with the adventures of a younger Merlin—, but I can still see it. It's there."
It had never occurred to Merlin that his wiser self had, at some point, been young. He supposed it was only natural for him to have been less wise before he became wise.
A younger Merlin, the boy thought, hands clutching the stool he sat on.
"I rest my case," the hat said, but Merlin's mind still whirled at the possibility of the wiser Merlin—someone he had, admittedly, thought of as only a background character and a guide—being someone more.
He had spent so much of his time admiring the world around his wiser self, through the eyes of someone old and past his prime, that he had never dared to think Merlin to be anything else.
"SLYTHERIN!"
He didn't thank the hat—it was taken off before he could managed—but he did look back once. It seemed smug, but it only reminded Merlin of Kilgharrah, so he smiled back (aware of the hat's lack of eyes).
The Slytherins clapped to his arrival, inviting him to sit. He felt his knees go weak, his nerves reach a peak.
Merlin fell onto the table, unable to do much else. Professor McGonall's words echoed back to him. A breath he had been holding let itself out.
"...while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts…"
Well, he didn't have a family outside of Hogwarts.
"Flinch-Fletchley, Justin!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Granger, Hermione!" Ah, the girl who had helped Neville search for his toad.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"Longbottom, Neville!" Who had lost his toad!
"GRYFFINDOR!" Neville darted back and forth, having forgotten to take off the hat.
"Macmillan, Ernest!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Malfoy, Draco!"
"SLYTHERIN!" It was almost immediate, and Merlin felt strangely proud. Draco sat a few seats away from Merlin—with Crabbe and Goyle—, but he smirked smugly when they caught sight of each other.
"Patil, Padma!"
"RAVENCLAW!" A twin came soon after that one, but she was chosen as a Gryffindor.
"Potter, Harry!"
Whispers broke out in the crowd.
The boy with messy black hair and round funny-looking glasses looked like any other student to Merlin. He was nervous, cowering under the gaze of surrounding students and teachers.
However, it seemed he had every right to be uneasy. His name was muttered as if he were famous. Hard to believe—the boy was only eleven—,but even Merlin had to admit he had heard the name before.
But when? Where?
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Most of the hall followed the boy with their eyes. His cheer was by far the rowdiest, and Merlin had to resist the urge to cover he ears.
Two redheaded twins were vivaciously cheering, "We got Potter! We got Potter!"
Curious as Merlin was about this Harry Potter, he resolved to ask about it later. There were only a few students left, so he dragged his eyes away from the Gryffindor table and to the front.
"Thomas, Dean!"
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"Weasley, Ronald!"
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"Zabini, Blaise!"
"SLYTHERIN!"
And it was over.
The headmaster stood up, eyes twinkling at the sight of his school. His name was Albus Dumbledore, if Merlin remembered correctly. His presence demanded attention, and Merlin gladly gave it to him.
"Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!
"Thank you!"
Food appeared on the empty dishes of the Slytherin table, causing Merlin to choke on his laughter.
Whoa.
It was such a banquet, he almost felt guilty looking at it!
Next to him, Blaise Zabini placed lamb chops and roast potato on his plate.
"Eat up, Merlin," an older student patted his back, emphasizing his name in a confusing manner.
"Thanks," he answered.
The food was delicious, only made better when a ghost—one that looked horribly blank and bloodied—appeared, terrifying students of all years. His smile was seen by his neighbor.
"You've got a sense of humor, don't you?" Zabini said, elbowing him with a grin. "I don't think I've ever seen you before. Merlin, was it?"
"Yes, and you're Blaise."
They shook hands, a gesture that came almost too naturally to the amnesiac.
They spoke, mostly about the dark boy, but Merlin had nothing about himself he could share, so he listened gladly. The amount of times Mrs. Zabini's had married was remarkable, and frankly a bit scary, but Blaise was a smart mouth.
Merlin found the wit helped.
What they did manage to discuss about Merlin was his name.
"You must have been teased often," Blaise inferred, "Your parents really like Merlin, right? Can't say I blame them."
Merlin cocked his head. Well, Kilgharrah had said he was famous. "My dad doesn't talk about him often."
Rather, the dragon talked to him.
Not that Kilgharrah was a parent figure, heavens no. He was just a dragon disguised as an owl who happened to be at least a few centuries older than Merlin's wiser self (imagine how much older he was than Merlin now).
"Are you serious? Why name you after the greatest warlock of all time and not talk to you about him? All the time! I was hoping you would be an expert on the subject—you could have helped me with history."
Merlin, blushing after hearing his new friend call him "the greatest warlock of all time," but couldn't hope to get out any coherent sentence longer that two words.
"Sorry," he finally muttered, determined to look up the history of Merlin later.
Blaise seemed to think Merlin was embarrassed for not knowing his namesake, so he replied, "Don't mind it, mate. I don't know everybody who's been named Blaise before."
But I know everything and nothing about Merlin.
It wasn't until the two boys had finished eating their share of chocolate eclairs, doughnuts, and just about any ice-cream flavor Merlin could get that the headmaster spoke again. With his newly announced presence, the desserts disappeared.
Merlin thought it was probably for the best, he was so stuffed. He blamed Kilgharrah for never letting him eat much other than frozen foods and leftovers. The no-stove-or-oven rule was still in place, after all—not that he knew how to cook.
Dumbledore cleared his throat, and the entire hall silenced.
"Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you."
Merlin listened attentively. Kilgharrah had explicitly stated that meeting the centaurs was likely the best option they had to predicting Merlin's future. Amnesia was so serious, he agreed with a wiser warlock when he had written to be "better safe than sorry."
"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."
The headmaster's eyes skimmed over the Gryffindor table, and Merlin had a feeling the two grinning redheads would not listen to any of the rules Dumbledore dared utter.
"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors."
Merlin would not listen either.
"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch."
Whatever Quidditch was…
"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor in the right-hand side in out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."
Merlin almost thought he was exaggerating, even felt a smile tug at his lip, but a shiver ran down his spine when nobody laughed. He was serious.
Were schools normally so unsafe?
He overheard a few of the older students around him discuss the matter, agreeing that it must be true. Strange, Dumbledore hadn't given a reason, but that didn't mean there wasn't one.
They should avoid the third-floor corridor in the right-hand side.
He would too.
Really.
"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" the headmaster cried enthusiastically. Merlin had no idea what to do, but it seemed it was not an issue.
"Everyone pick their favorite tune, and off we go!"
Everyone sang.
Merlin couldn't help himself when a tune he did not recognize—yet thoroughly enjoyed—accompanied the lyrics:
"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,
Teach us something please,
Whether we be old and bald,
Or young with scabby knees,
Our heads could do with filling,
With some interesting stuff,
For now they're bare and full of air,
Dead flies and bits of fluff,
So teach us things worth knowing,
Bring back what we've forgot,
Just do your best, we'll do the rest,
And learn until our brains all rot."
His was a cheery tune, one which ended quickly and on a high note; a total contrast to the funeral march the redheaded twins held to the very end—much to his amusement.
The song was strangely appropriate to his situation, he thought.
Dumbledore sent them off with an ode to music and an "Off you trot!"
Trot they did.
Though he was tired, Merlin still conversed with Blaise. He held off on questions, seeing as the other boy seemed just a sleepy as he was. Dinner had been filling after all, and even the great halls they passed through seemed warm, toasty, and ready to be slept on.
He paid little attention to his surroundings, mindlessly following the herd of first years walking behind a prefect. Some portraits welcomed them into the school, and Merlin sometimes waved.
The children reached what seemed like the lowest floor in Hogwarts, the dungeons. Led to a hidden door, they were shown how to enter their common room, the Slytherin Dungeon.
Not exactly a homely name, but the actual room was more than something pretty to look at.
"Salamander," the prefect whispered to a wall.
The wall revealed to them a room shrouded in a green and cold atmosphere, elegant and biting. There were carved seats, leather sofas, and resting spots around. A mantled fireplace stared at them from the center of the opposite wall. Green and round lamps hung around to illuminate as little as they could.
"The password changes every fortnight," the prefect announced. "Remember to check the noticeboard, else you'll be stuck out here surrounded by damp walls. Also, remember which wall you whisper to, for Merlin's sake."
Merlin almost smiled at the thought of speaking to a regular wall, but stuttered when his name was announced. He choked on air. Blaise kindly patted his back, smirking knowingly. Draco, standing at the very front, seemed more amused than he had any right to be.
"Don't bring anyone who isn't a Slytherin here," the prefect warned, to which some scoffed. "Off to bed."
They were pointed to their appropriate chambers. His trunk lay next to a very comfy-looking four poster bed, so Merlin assumed the bed was his. He sat on it, watching as four other students lay on their own. Blaise, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle.
"It seems I was sorted into Slytherin after all," he chose to say, smugly looking at Draco's tired—yet still oddly pompous—figure.
"Fortunately," Draco said.
The other four were asleep before Merlin could say "Goodnight." He still did so, only receiving a scoff he knew had not come from anywhere near him.
Where do the owls stay, Kilgharrah, he wondered.
In nice perches where we are free to roam the skies, the Great Dragon answered rather bitterly. A much better location than yours.
Dungeons aren't so bad, Merlin replied.
Try spending twenty years in one.
He did not reply, already having dozed off, despite the nap he'd take on the Hogwarts Express. What a child, indeed.
. . .
Goodnight, young warlock.
Oh, I am so behind! So behind, I will be surprised if next week gets an update. I suck. I should have planned things out. I didn't. I have three things planned out in this story, dude. None of them are going to become a thing unless I can finish writing everything that comes before the things! Urgh.
See ya, I guess~